


Don't You Touch Me

by Fictionista654



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/F, Femslash, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 11:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionista654/pseuds/Fictionista654
Summary: Gwen saves Morgana from being assaulted.





	Don't You Touch Me

**Author's Note:**

> CW for sexual assault and throw up.

It’s a woman’s voice, coming from across the dark street. “No no no no no no no no no,” it says, and Gwen lowers her keys, squints to the houses across from her. Two dark shapes are moving by the hip-length stone wall that fences in Number 27’s vegetable garden. Before she can think about it, Gwen is walking across the road, keys clenched between two knuckles.

A tale as old as fucking time: a man is clawing at a woman, pushing her against a wall, and trying to take what isn’t his. He’s got a hand on the waistband of her jeans, another going up her shirt. She’s sobbing, trying to get away, but he keeps pushing her back, and Gwen’s blood boils.

“Get off of her, you sick fuck!” she shouts, and swings her purse into his back. He takes a look at her, decides that a quick rape isn’t worth the effort, and races off down the block. “Are you all right?” The woman sobs violently in response, and Gwen tentatively touches the woman’s hand. “Do you want to come inside with me?”

The woman nods, tears dripping off her chin. “Okay,” she says huskily, her voice surprisingly steady for all the crying. This time, Gwen gets into her building uninterrupted and flicks on the hall light. For the first time, she can really see what the woman looks like: black hair, wan face, green eyes lined with red. Her nose is fighting a losing battle with snot. 

“Wait a moment,” says Gwen. “Morgana, is that you?”

Morgana blinks away some of her tears. “Gwen? I haven’t seen you since high school.”

“What a way to meet again,” Gwen says, leading Morgana up the narrow wooden stairs to her flat.

“It’s not you, but I think I’m going to be sick,” says Morgana.

Gwen’s eyes widen, and she hurries up the rest of the steps, hastily unlocking her flat. She ushers Morgana into the single bathroom, where, true to her word, Morgana throws up. “That’s it,” Gwen says soothingly, running her fingers through Morgana’s hair. “Get it all out.” Morgana’s fingers tighten on the bowl and she retches again. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, when it seems she’s done throwing up. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I was drunk,” Morgana says. “I just wanted…I was trying to get a taxi. He came out of nowhere. Oh, my God.” She whacks her hand furiously against the toilet seat. “Fuck him! What the fuck! I was just trying to get a fucking taxi!” 

“I know,” Gwen says, because she does know, and tries not to think about all the other women kneeling on cold tile bent over toilet bowls at this very moment, trying to purge themselves of whatever just happened.

Morgana shudders, and Gwen can see the gooseflesh rising on her bare arms. “Oh, God. I can still feel his fucking dick pushing against me.”

“I’m sorry,” Gwen says softly. “Can I get you a blanket?”

“I should go home,” Morgana says, but she doesn’t move. “Fuck him.”

“Fuck him.”

“Fuck him.”

Gwen smiles, and after a moment, Morgana smiles back. “Thank you for stopping him.”

“Of course.” Gwen stands. “I’ll get you a toothbrush, okay?”

Morgana nods and rubs at the tear tracks on her face. “Could I—would you mind if I took a shower?” 

“Use the pink shampoo,” says Gwen. “It’s for straight hair.”

“Thanks.” When Morgana stands, her knees wobble, and she catches herself against the sink. Gwen leaves her with a promise to bring back pyjamas.

As soon as the bathroom door’s closed behind her, Gwen lets her face crumple. She cries silently into her open hands, takes a deep breath, and shoves her own memory out of her head. She considers texting Merlin, who’s been there for her ever since it happened, but she doesn’t want to burden him. It’s hard, though. Seeing someone about to be raped. 

When Morgana comes out of the bathroom, huddled in her towel, Gwen passes her a pair of soft yoga pants and a sweater. While Morgana dresses, Gwen fills the kettle and turns it on.

“Thank you for being so kind to me,” Morgana says, joining Gwen in the kitchen. 

“It’s just human decency,” says Gwen. “Chamomile or Earl Grey?”

“Chamomile,” says Morgana. “Can I help?”

“Nothing to do.” Gwen takes a package of biscuits from the cupboard to the table and sits in her usual spot by the radiator. After a moment, Morgana sits across from her. Her long, spindly fingers play with the ends of her sleeves. The clock above the stove ticks through the silence, providing a metronome for their individual reveries.

“I wish I kicked him,” Morgana says finally. “I should have kicked him.”

“It’s not your fault,” says Gwen, and Morgana rolls her eyes.

“I know it’s not my fault. But I should have kicked him.”

“There’s always next time,” says Gwen. She and Morgana look each other in the eye, and burst out laughing.

“Third time’s the charm,” Morgana says, which makes them laugh even harder.

“Oh, my God,” Gwen says. “This fucking world.”

“This fucking world,” Morgana agrees. 

In the end, Morgana stays the night, sleeping on Gwen’s pull-out. Somewhere around 2 AM, she wakes up crying, and Gwen shuffles to the living room, where she sits on the edge of the bed and holds Morgana’s hand.

“It happened to me,” Gwen says, when Morgana’s breathing has quieted. “Last year.”

“I wish I’d been there to save you,” Morgana says, and Gwen starts guiltily.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“No.” There’s a pause. The ceiling fan goes round and round. “I feel so dumb crying about it, though, when…when I think about what could have happened.”

Gwen tightens her hold on Morgana’s hand. “You were just assaulted, Morgana. You’re allowed to cry. What that man was doing to you, it was despicable.” 

“Will you—will you hold me?” says Morgana. “You don’t have to, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“I’ll hold you,” says Gwen, getting under the covers, “as long as you hold me.”

“Deal,” says Morgana, and wraps her arms around Gwen, who snuggles her face into Morgana’s shoulder. She smells like the pink shampoo.


End file.
